


Count

by blackstar



Series: 30 day writing challenge [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: After 3x7, Aftermath, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jennifer Blake doesn't exist?, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Pack Building, Yeah let's just forget about her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackstar/pseuds/blackstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd’s death changed their whole dynamic. The pack shifted so significantly, in such a short period of time that Stiles sometimes wondered if it could snap back the same way.  </p><p>OR</p><p>how, with collective efforts, but mostly with Stiles' hard work, the ragtag group becomes a pack and a family</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count

Boyd’s death changed their whole dynamic. The pack shifted so significantly, in such a short period of time that Stiles sometimes wondered if it could snap back the same way. Every time he thought of that, he worked harder, thought of new ways to bring his friends together. Boyd and Erica were gone and that was a hole they couldn’t fill, at all, but they could try to patch things enough to exist together, make life easier for everyone. Stiles constantly felt the weight of that desire of his, for the collective wellbeing, and it didn’t give him any peace. It haunted him in his dreams, Derek’s expression as he looked at Boyd’s lifeless body, Cora, crying over him, Scott’s sob later, when the two were alone; Isaac’s eyes darkening every time he looked at the loft floor, where Boyd had bled out in front of them. It haunted his days as well and he had made a notebook, in which to write in all of his nightmares. That way, he thought, maybe he could keep them closed there and not in his head.

He also had a whole big plan on how to get the pack together, to help each other through the pain. Cora had said that losing a pack member was the worst feeling she remembers feeling, and Derek looked completely inconsolable whenever Stiles would lay eyes on him. Stiles had gotten everything organized in the coming days and had started a weekly pack night. Pack nights. Alpha pack and every other creature out there be damned, Saturday night was pack night. That helped a lot, with planning and coordinating everyone, as Stiles had demanded in his most stern voice (and Scott had looked at everyone pleadingly behind him) that everyone be present every time at pack night. Their hard work and combined efforts, as well as a pack, which Cora called to come from South America, was what got them through the horror and constant threat, which was Deucalion’s mindless revenge.

That didn’t mean everything was fine now, of course. There were these hollow looks the wolves would get from time to time and Stiles ached for them. He missed Boyd and Erica too, but he couldn’t imagine what breaking a bond like that meant for the rest of them. He’d shared that particular thought with Lydia once and she had cut him off in the end with a sharp look.

“Don’t you dare say that you feel less because you didn’t have a supernatural bond with him, this is ridiculous. He was your friend as much as he was theirs, werewolf or not, I don’t care. You get to mourn as much as the brooding alpha, if you feel the same pain. He wasn’t just a werewolf, Stiles.” Which had, honestly, helped. As always, wisdom by Lydia Martin. She helped him with organization as well, with planning the nights to be equal parts fun and serious, so they would have time to practice and get better at fighting together, as a team, as well as get better at beings friends with each other.

This was Stiles’ biggest project. Make the wolves a real pack.

He got a fuller idea of what that supposed real pack means mainly through Cora’s descriptions of the dynamics of the South American one, as well as, sometimes, rarely, about their family, before the fire. She’d get this extremely fond look and she’d look somewhere away, a smile tugging at her lips, while she spoke of the fun camping trips, in which the children dared each other to jump off of rocks to other rocks, or would have competitions to see which one was the fastest and it was always Laura, because she was the eldest.

“Except that one time Derek won, but it was plain cheating if you ask me.” She giggled as Derek’s voice travelled the huge futnitureless room.

“You were the one who pulled Laura’s leg down, don’t put it on me, you brat.” But he laughed as well and came to sit on the couch next to his sister.

“Hey, Stiles” Cora drew out, as children do when they’re about to share a secret to tease you. “Did you know that Derek has been lurking around every time I tell you about pack stuff?” she said loudly, proudly, as if she was outing Derek’s secret love for bird watching or something. Derek punched her in the arm as she started laughing. “All so I don’t lie to you. My brother is a softie.”

“Shut up, Cora.”

And it was such an adorable sibling thing, which he’d seen normal, non-werewolf and non-hurt people do, that Stiles laughed with Cora, fondly and happily. He felt light that day, knowing that Derek was listening to these stories as well, remembering with love instead of with guilt. At least that’s what Stiles was hoping Derek did.

-

Pack nights stopped being evenings, which ended at around 11 with everyone sleepily heading home, and started being real full nights about 6 months after the first one. It wasn’t exactly planned (or no one was informed it was planned, except for the two planners) but they had everything they needed, especially activities, with which to kill time. Before dinner, in the late afternoon, the wolves had practiced, as they usually did, in the streets around Derek’s loft. It was an urban adventure, as Isaac called it, and they basically parkoured around the streets, trying to build up stealth points and also friendly fighting each other here and there. It was good practice, Stiles approved fully.

Later, though, instead of going to Derek’s loft, which had become their routine, they went to Stiles’ house. His dad had went to sleep at Scott’s, after many wink-wink, nudge-nudge situations, which Stiles was responsible for, and giving his blessing to a werewolf all-night party, the only people who knew of as of yet, himself and his son. The conspiracy to surprise the children, as Stiles’ dad didn’t want to call them a pack, was the most fun he had had in a while. The father and son duo had organized a huge pillow fort and a small scavenger hunt around the house, the findings of which had been board games, beer, food, more food, snacks, and cards. Laughter had filled the Stilinski house in a way that Stiles couldn’t remember hearing from years and years. Not since his mom had passed.

Everyone was so high on energy and fun, they didn’t even have to resort to the TV and the huge DVD choice Stiles had prepared. Instead, they went through board games and a truth or dare game, an actual pillow-fight and a confession game before things settled down and they didn’t need for it to be a game in order to just speak quietly into the night, to their friends, and share their thoughts. They were all splayed inside the pillow fort when the sun started to rise and the quiet started disappearing, replaced by the shocked outcries at how fast the time had went by that night. Stiles had been lying between Derek on one side, and Scott on the other, and he took great pleasure in seeing Derek smile this amazingly happy, genuine smile, without answering the exclamations.

Not every pack night was necessarily a whole uninterrupted night after that, but they became the pack’s collective favorite and they switched places from time to time – sometimes staying in Derek and Cora’s loft, sometimes at Scott’s, which was now Isaac’s too, and a couple of very memorable times Lydia was the hostess. She always threw the best parties. Most nights, though, they would stay at Stiles’ house – because they saw how content that made _him_ or because they liked it best themselves, Stiles didn’t know, but he didn’t really care that much either. Stiles also noticed that his dad was almost too eager to offer to leave the house to their devices, or take Melissa in for a night. Scott and Stiles both were very happy with these developments.

-

Things weren’t good all the time, not even now, Stiles was reminded on one of those full pack nights. They were at his house but were sleeping, not in a pillow fort but instead on the beds in his and his dad’s room, the couch downstairs and an inflatable mattress they brought around wherever the pack night was. Allison was with Scott and Isaac on it, as they always were, the weirdoes, and they were downstairs. In his father’s bed Lydia slept alone, and Cora was on the couch. Himself and Derek had ended up in his bed huddled together, as they did a lot recently, both of them looking for physical comfort from the nightmares, Stiles guessed. There was something more there as well but he didn’t want to touch it yet, didn’t want to fall into a pit of wonder and suspicion, with which he would only break a great new friendship.

He was awoken by a stirring next to him, a low whine, almost too animalistic for Stiles to register it as Derek. He blinked rapidly a couple of times in order to wake himself up and looked at Derek, who was facing him. Their legs had somehow ended up intertwined in their sleep and Stiles felt his gut twist with affection at the thought, but then he stopped himself as another cut-out pained noise came out of Derek’s throat. Derek was glazed with sweat, from what Stiles could see from the light in the corridor, his brows furrowed and his lips slightly open, curved downwards. His eyes were shut tight and his whole body was starting to shake a little, along with his hands.

 

Stiles acts on instinct and takes Derek’s hands into his, pulling him nearer and trying to gently pull him out of the nightmare with softly spoken words and light touches on his cheeks and forearms. Derek’s whimpers quiet down and he stops shaking, and even though he’s not waking up, he looks more relaxed. When Stiles slides his hand to cup Derek’s neck, though, Derek stills and Stiles hears a gasp behind him.

“Don’t--” Isaac exclaims as he steps inside the room but one of Derek’s hands is lifting and he stops him with a quick:

“I’m okay, Isaac. He’s okay too. Go back to sleep.” Isaac stops and looks puzzled for a second, eyes shifting between Stiles and Derek, before he leaves, pouting.

Stiles’ heart is beating impossibly fast and Derek probably notices, as he slumps back down next to Stiles, this time a bit closer.

“Thank you. For waking me like you did. And sorry for Isaac, he…” Derek sighs “Nevermind. You should go back to sleep too.” Everything he says is an barely audible whisper, like he doesn’t want to wake Scott and Cora as well.

“You should know better than to tell _me_ of all people ‘never mind’, Derek. Tell me. Don’t make me ask all the questions and I won’t bug you for things you don’t want to tell me, okay?”

Derek takes a breath and nods, looking away.

“Isaac thought… look, if you happen to stumble across a sleeping werewolf, never touch their necks while they’re still sleeping, okay?” he stops for a second, as if waiting for a reply. When Stiles doesn’t ask, he continues “Because that’s a… a wolf thing. Any werewolf would just…. Uh, rip your arm out.”

Stiles can’t help it, he laughs and adds a barely-there “with his teeth.”

Derek laughs as well and looks at Stiles again, sees the question written all over his face. He takes a deep breath again and starts talking. “I was dreaming about Boyd, it happens sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“I dream about Boyd too.”

“Really?”

“Have a whole notebook full of nightm—dreams like that. Over there, at my nightstand.”

“Why?” They had talked about this, all of them, one of the pack nights, but it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t half as intense or as raw as he felt right now.

“Because I can keep them at bay that way. Away from me.” Stiles wonders if Derek can really hear him, with both of them whispering so quietly.

“I sometimes… am not sure if I’m dreaming or not. Everything is just so _real_ , I feel everything, I _smell_ everything and everything is so normal, and so painful, I can barely stand it.” Derek seems as surprised at his sudden confession as Stiles is, his eyes get wider and he shuts up, closes up with his whole body.

Stiles is the one who moves closer this time, touching Derek’s neck as he had before – this time, with intent, and waits until Derek looks up again.

“Count.” He says, simply. “When you wonder if you’re still sleeping, count your fingers.” And with that he starts pressing his fingers to Derek’s neck slowly and deliberately, one by one, right next to his pulse point, and he sees how Derek mouths the numbers – one, two, three, four, five. Derek closes his eyes and moves his head so his forehead touches Stiles’ neck.

“Thank you.” He whispers against Stiles’ skin, which makes Stiles shiver. Right now they are so close, almost every part of them is touching, Stiles’ fingers still splayed on Derek’s neck, and that’s so intimate, Stiles thinks.

“Why didn’t you rip my hand off with your teeth, sourwolf?” Stiles asks after a silence, and he waits for Derek’s body to tense or for him to turn away or move from him. Instead, Derek pushes closer to him.

“I could never.” He says and his breath swims over Stiles’ skin as he says, louder this time, loud enough for Stiles to know he’s not making it up. “I love you.”

-

Pack night is now a pack twenty-four hours straight event once every two weeks. They come in at around noon. Isaac and Scott and Allison, who have the most adorable of relationships, along with their two little children running around, a boy and a girl, Erica and Boyd. Cora almost always comes with her boyfriend, who he insists is fiancé already, even though Cora wears no ring and refuses to admit it; Stiles believes Will, if he has to be honest. Lydia comes in almost always by herself, because her husband, Ray, barely knows anything about the supernatural (by his own choice – he was really freaked out by Lydia’s ability at first and then he decided he prefers to just... pretend it doesn’t exist. Stiles can’t wait for the day when Lydia will have had enough and will leave his sorry ass for something better, something she deserves).

They eat in the kitchen when it’s cold outside, and on a big wooden table in the yard, when it’s not. Most of the time, they have some sort of meat on the table, because, of course, after all they are a pack of werewolves, and some ridiculous desserts Stiles makes up every time there is a need. They run around in the afternoon, like the grown-ups they are, still ‘practicing’, even though it’s just for fun. The house is almost inside the preserve, so they don’t have to worry about silence or stealth anymore, at least. The humans run with the wolves, of course, as it has always been. Will always tries to outrun Cora even if he knows he has no chance and Lydia leaves her heels in order to play with Erica and Boyd, who both adore her.

They have a room, a makeshift pillow-fort, which Stiles had insisted on having, and which is the children’s (and who are they kidding, everyone else’s) favorite room. After dinner they go there and Stiles is still not certain how this is not getting old for them, how they aren’t trying to mix up the program because this is enough and it is the best. They talk and play games and joke around; they share and plan and laugh. They plan trips, camping in the mountains or a couple of days at the beach, all of them, together; a family, Stiles knows in his heart. And then they sleep. It’s a good thing the house is so big, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to contain all of these bodies, which need rest. Stiles always kids around that they’re getting old if they don’t want to stay up all night like old times.

The guest rooms are crazy, Stiles had made sure. But his and Derek’s bedroom is a sanctuary. It’s painted in warm colors, different, splashes of green and peach mixed with long stripes of brown and so on. Their bed is huge and yet they rarely occupy more than one half of it, curled into each other. On the nightstands, there are notebooks with pens, waiting like empty cages to contain the horrors and nightmares the pack meets and which scar them.

After a pack night, they sleep tight, most of the time. They go to bed with kisses and murmured “love you”s and “so tired”s. Sometimes they fall into slumber so fast, they don’t even notice.

Sometimes, they still count. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> And the next morning, the Sheriff and Melissa come in for breakfast and they act like the collective parents of the pack. Chris sometimes joins them as well. 
> 
>  
> 
> anyways, feels. I really like this one even though, my god, sorry for the mix of tenses. I just cannot keep the same tense through a whole fic.  
> Word tells me I've written more than 20k words so far. In 9 days! I'm extremely proud of myself, can't even tell you how much. Thank you all for reading and leaving kudos and comments. It's the best thing in the world to wake up in the morning and see that people have read the thing I wrote last night. <3 Thank you looots! 
> 
> Next word is uuuuh~ crimson. Any ideas, dear readers? :3


End file.
